The Advancement of Mateo Matic: August 6, 2519

« < » > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Gemini Pro text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3

The honeymoon was going well. After horsing around in Mud World: World of Mud for a little while, Mateo, Leona, and Olimpia spent the night in the Sovereign Suite of the Palacium Hotel, which was pretty much the most extravagant, opulent place to stay on the planet. Hrockas actually booked it for them for more than a year, so they could sleep across midnight central, and not worry about anyone having used it during their interim year. It was too much, and completely unnecessary, but he insisted. While it was luxurious and beautiful, people really didn’t need such things these days. They mostly came for the fun and adventure, and to do things that they could not do anywhere else. The majority of the residential dwellings were functional and unremarkable, because it wasn’t a big draw for anyone, and there were plenty of nice places to live on other planets.

They were currently hanging out in State of the Art, standing on the shoulder of one of the gargantuan statues that towered over the skyline. Visitors couldn’t typically climb this high up, but teleporters didn’t share such limitations. They were trying to figure out what they were going to do next. The others on the team were right. They needed this, and if they would deign to admit it to themselves, they deserved it too.

“Adrenadome?” Olimpia suggested. They were each looking through the catalog, and tossing out ideas.

“I don’t want to shift substrates,” Leona said. “Nothing life-threatning.”

Olimpia clicked her teeth as she began to swipe away the options she had bookmarked one by one.

“We should just go to Polar Tropica,” Mateo said for the umpteenth time.

“That’s so basic,” Olimpia contended. “Are we basic?”

“Well, I suggested we try the Outer System space battle simulations, but no one wanted anything violent,” Mateo reminded her.

“Still don’t,” Leona confirmed. “Whoa,” she added, looking down at her forearm output.

“What? Something juicy?” Olimpia asked, trying to look over at her readout.

Leona read the message out loud, “you have been browsing the catalog for a while now. Still having trouble deciding? Tap here for a random suggestion, which will come from your preference algorithm. If you linked your profile with nearby friends, this suggestion will be sourced from their interest surveys as well.”

“Tap on that thang!” Mateo said.

Leona shrugged and tapped on the button. A new message popped up that read, temporal signatures detected. Rerouting. Instead of just producing the answer, they were automatically teleported elsewhere.

They found themselves standing next to a wooden wall. It wasn’t cleanly cut, but looked more like bark. The air was foggy and unbreathable. A heavy rain was falling upon them. They activated their EmergentSuits, and continued to look around. “Wow. That could have killed us,” Olimpia said.

“Must be an experimental feature,” Leona mused. “Jesimula Utkin suggested it at a meeting once. Hrockas wasn’t so sure, because he didn’t know how to distinguish time travelers from regular people. I guess they think they figured it out.”

“Not really,” Mateo contended. “The air is toxic. Unless it also knew that we had suits on, I guess.”

“It’s only toxic for us,” Leona agreed. She ran her hand over the wood wall. She reached over to her arm screen, and flicked the data over to her heads up display, which was an easier way to read when her helmet was on. “Derudome. It houses The World Tree, along with thousands of others, but this one is set to reach the top of the dome, and be three kilometers in diameter.”

“So, it’s not a wall,” Mateo stated the obvious.

“No. This isn’t even in the catalog yet,” Leona went on. “I can only see the prospectus because we’re already in the dome, and the satnav found an otherwise hidden link, but it isn’t open to visitors.”

“First!” Mateo shouted playfully.

“Hey, Thistle,” Leona began. “Erase the fog and rain through multispectral imaging. Show us the tree alone.”

The image on their HUDs changed. The fog still had them enveloped, and they could still hear the pitter-patter of rainwater on their suits, but they could now see what the tree would look like on a clear day. It was a magnificent sight to behold. People were really going to love it. Leona was in just as much awe of it, but was also running calculations through her head. How could such a thing be possible? How did it grow so fast? Did Hrockas use time tech? Or had he been working on this longer than she realized? No, even if it was the absolute first dome he started working on, the tree could not be at full height in this short amount of time. And if time tech were involved, he likely would have conscripted Ramses to make it happen.

Leona refocused her vision to the HUD text. “There’s more. It has a planned release date of...” She trailed off.

“When?” Mateo prompted.

“Year 2900,” she said.

“Whew, that’s the long-game,” Olimpia pointed out.

“Wait. Why wait?” Leona questioned. “Thistle, what are the current dimensions?”

“Nearly eight kilometers tall, with a diameter of two-point-four-two kilometers.”

“Yeah, it’s just not ready yet,” Leona determined. “The math is tight, but the rate of growth doesn’t break the laws of physics in a highly controlled environment such as this one.”

Someone else wearing an environmental suit walked up from a couple of meters away, letting themselves appear in the honeymooners’ sightlines without speaking or jumpscaring them first. Whoever it was, their visor was opaque. They held one hand towards Olimpia while the other hand was underneath their own chin. Both palms were face up. They drew both hands together until one was on top of the other, then turned them so both palms were face down. They then extended their hands back to the original positions, except with the hands switched. This was the universal sign for open up radio communications on a hailing frequency.

Leona did as she was asked. “Hello?”

“Sorry, my visor is broken,” Hrockas’ voice came through. “I refuse to wear an IMS on this planet on principle as the whole premise is that it’s infinitely survivable. I didn’t realize the helmet didn’t work right until it was already on.”

“How did you get here so fast?” Mateo asked him.

“I have a teleporter belt,” Hrockas replied. “Ramses built one for me. It needs constant charging, but it makes my daily life easier. Is he here?”

“Just the three of us,” Olimpia promised.

“Good. Not that I wouldn’t want him here. Well, I don’t plan on any of you being here. It’s just that I was worried about my lifesign sensors, but it appears they captured all visitors. You really aren’t meant to be here, though.”

“The auto random selector dispatched us here,” Leona explained.

“Oooooooohh, I forgot about that. It should not have been activated. I’ll have a talk with Jesi’s friend about it. I put the project on hold indefinitely.”

“Fair enough,” Mateo said. “We’re sorry to have imposed.”

“No, it’s okay, you three are fine,” Hrockas insisted. “I just need to include it when we update the security protocols.” He looked up at the tree. He likely couldn’t see it in all its glory, however, as the fog would be blocking most of the view. “Wady’all think?”

“It’s gorgeous,” Leona said. “We were looking for a place to spend some of our honeymoon. This place checks a lot of boxes. I like ecologies. Mateo likes water. Olimpia likes dangerous or toxic environments.”

Hrockas chuckled. “The air is saturated with carbon dioxide. Makes them grow faster.”

“So there are other trees here?” Olimpia pressed.

“Oh, yeah, it’ll be a whole forest when it’s done,” Hrockas said as he turned at the waist to indicate the area in general. “Land for giants, but not with giants. I’ll leave that to Gulliver’s World.”

“Thanks for letting us see it,” Leona said graciously. “I’m sure we’ll be back in about four hundred days, when it’s finally open to the public.”

Hrockas chuckled again. “You can stay as long as you want. The fog makes it hard to see, but hey, if you’re into that, as well as danger, you could always try Foggy Forest.”

“Thanks. After my time in Bloodbourne,” Mateo said, “I’ve decided to stay away from the intentionally scary or unsettling ones.”

“I understand. Have a good rest of your honeymoon.” Hrockas tried to tug on a pull actuator, and flip a switch on his shoulder. “Oh, shit. My teleporter’s drained again.”

“Here.” Mateo approached. “Let me take you to Treasure Hunting Dome, so Ramses can fix it for you. It shouldn’t drain that fast.”

“No, I’ve been using it all day. I really just need to be careful with it.”

“Well, I’ll make him give you a second one during charge cycles, or hell, a third.” Mateo took hold of Hrockas and took them both away. Leona and Olimpia followed.

They were standing in the antechamber to Ramses’ new lab, which he built when he was stuck in the past for a year. After they went through decontamination, the three EmergentSuit wearers receded their nanites, and stepped into the lab. While Olimpia was helping Hrockas remove his bulky suit, Mateo approached Ramses. Something caught his eye, though. He looked over at a gestational pod, which Romana was floating inside of. He fumed. “What happened to my daughter?”

“She’s fine,” Ramses said. “She’s taking a nap. That’s not your daughter. It’s a new substrate for her.”

“Why would she need a new substrate?” Mateo questioned.

“The retroverters,” Ramses began to explain. “They’re not proverters too. Romana asked me to give her an upgrade instead of waiting for time to age her back up.”

“We can find her a proverter somewhere else,” Mateo reasoned.

“That’s not what she wants. You should talk to her.”

“Were you ever gonna tell me?”

“Yeah, when you got back. Why are you back so early?”

“It was just a quick detour in between adventures. Now I worry I should stay, or you’ll do something drastic.”

“Mateo. We were going to tell you. We just wanted you to relax first. Don’t make this into a thing.”

“Well, you’ve obviously been working on it for a long time now. She only looks as old as the real Romana does right now.”

“That is on an accelerated timescale,” Ramses clarified.

“I thought that wasn’t safe or stable.”

“I mean, the clone is in a time bubble. Or it usually is, while I’m not here. It’s developing at a normal rate, but from our perspective, it’s sped up. I shut off the temporal field this morning so I could run diagnostics, and make any adjustments necessary...which there aren’t any.”

This made Mateo even more frustrated. “Why can’t you just do that for Romana herself, keeping her in her original body?”

Ramses shook his head. “You’re not as dumb as you pretend to be, so stop asking stupid questions. It wouldn’t work for a conscious individual. She would go insane, trapped in the pod for ten plus years. God!”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Mediator Leona said, stepping in. “Ramses, don’t be mean. Not everyone is as smart as you, and I know you get annoyed, but you need to keep control of how you speak to others. What might seem like a dumb question to you could sound perfectly reasonable to anyone else.” She too was a genius, but a part of her wasn’t. She recalled a timeline where she majored in Film Studies in college. This gave her a rare ability to straddle both worlds, and be empathetic to all. “Mateo, Romana is an adult, and this decision was inevitable. Look around. Nobody on this planet is a regular mortal being. Some people refused transhumanistic upgrades once they became available, and you know what happened to them? They died. Because that’s literally what they wanted. Their race has all but died out at this point, because fewer in each generation choose to stay as they were when they were born.”

“I know,” Mateo responded. “Intellectually, I know. I just can’t help but see her as my little girl. I never got to raise her. I think I would give her all the room in the universe if I watched her grow up, making small decisions on her own at first, before working her way up to the life-changing ones.”

“Yeah, and that wasn’t fair for you, but at the same time, it’s not fair of you to expect her to let you treat her as a child.”

Mateo said. “I know that too.”

“This wasn’t a rash decision,” little Romana said from the doorway. “I always wanted to be like you. My whole life, I’ve wanted to be like you. I grew up with stories. This...Ashvin thing was just the catalyst that pushed me to finally go through with it. I want this.”

“It’ll be ready in a couple days,” Ramses said.

“Did you hear that, dad? Plenty of time to go back to your honeymoon. I promise, when you return, I’ll still look like a child. I won’t transfer without you present.”

Mateo nodded. “Okay.”

When Mateo showed up the next day, still in the middle of the honeymoon, Romana no longer looked like a kid. She didn’t look like herself at all.

« < » > Table of Contents

Extremus: Year 107

« < » > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Gemini Pro text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3

Tinaya decided to not tell Arqut, Silveon, or Audrey about the post-death asteroid that could be waiting for them once they finally leave the ship at the end of their first life. It isn’t something they need to be worried about for now. They still don’t talk to Audrey a whole lot, because it’s riskier than ever, but not impossible. Waldemar isn’t the least bit suspicious, and he’s not all that possessive. He sees Audrey and his friends as props. He really doesn’t care what these props do when they’re not busy making him look like a normal, well-adjusted person fit for leadership. While he ended up announcing his engagement instead of declaring his intentions to restore the civilian Chair system, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t plan on doing that eventually. He holds secret meetings all the time, with all sorts of people, some of whom have obvious political connections on this ship, others who seem unremarkable and inconsequential.

They don’t have time to worry about that today, and won’t for a good long while. Everyone else has become quite preoccupied with the upcoming event.  It’s the halfway mark. The thing to remember about this mission is that the outcome is, by definition, unknown. No one has ventured out to space this far, and they have definitely not gone as far as Extremus eventually will. The mystery is part of the experience, which they all hope their descendants will appreciate, and not resent them for it. The idea of it taking 216 years has always been more of an estimate than anything. There is no clear boundary forming the edge of the galaxy. The galactic halo alone makes it undefined, and with there being plenty of stars in the intergalactic voids anyway, there really is no standard scope of the Milky Way. Someone—no one seems to remember who—supposedly chose the duration to be 216 years simply because they liked the number. It’s impossible to verify that since the figure predates any serious discussion their ancestors made regarding the Extremus mission itself. It wasn’t like some fabled “founder” stood before the cameras, and unveiled a fully baked idea to travel across the galaxy. People started murmuring about it first, with different concepts being bounced around until landing on this one. It was a years-long process.

So basically, July 17, 2378 is only halfway between their starting date and their ending date because they had to make some sort of plan, even if it was always going to be subject to change. It definitely will change, because statistically speaking, there is almost no way that their 215th anniversary rolls around, and they happen to find a viable planet on that very day. Which is okay, because there is also no way that they let this nebulousness stop them from celebrating. Not even the Bridger section knows what happens at the end of the target deadline. It’s written into the charter that no one possesses knowledge about the future that far in advance. They could have hypothetically asked a seer to warn them of how things would turn out, and craft their plans meticulously to account for every eventuality, but that would have gone against the spirit of the endeavor. They don’t want to know what they’ll find, because then what’s the point of looking for it?

They’re arguing. Well, Tinaya isn’t arguing. The council members are arguing with each other while she, Lataran, and Oceanus sit in silence. Their first issue? The theme. What will the theme of the party be? Well, hopefully nothing, because that’s a little childish. Plus, there is no single area on this ship where every passenger and crewmember can congregate. The Attic Forest might be big enough, but there are hills, trees, and other vegetation blocking views, so it’s not a great place if you want to have some kind of presentation or performance. Plus, Tinaya really doesn’t want all those people in her forest all at once, trashing the place. There will be multiple gatherings, some happening at the same time, some happening on different dates. The exact date of July 17 is important, but they’ll be doing things in the weeks leading up to it, and probably after it too. The council will decide on some of them, but passengers can party whenever they want, for pretty much any reason, so other events will be unaffiliated.

Oceanus has clearly grown weary of all this back and forth, but the expression on his face isn’t enough to clarify what’s going on in his head. Not even when he blurts out; “a committee!”

“What?” Councilman Linwood questions.

“Why are you handling this?” Oceanus questions. “You’re the council for the ship, made up of crew and civilian policymakers. You have important business to attend to. Why are you wasting your time on a party?” Hm. It’s not just about the pointlessness of this particular debate.

There is silence for a moment. “You may leave if you wish, Captain,” Head Councillor Spalden says to him. “This is not a mandatory meeting.”

“It’s not just me,” Oceanus begins. “Yes, I’m too busy for this, but what I’m trying to tell you is that you are as well. I’m not saying that members of the council can’t also be part of the party planning committee, or whatever you wanna call it, but it should not be taking up all of your time. This is a different subject of discussion, and therefore requires different voices. Let’s open it up, and invite others to join. Meanwhile, you can move on to more crucial concerns.”

“Would you want to be on it?” Spalden asks.

“Absolutely not,” Oceanus retorts. “I don’t care.” He gives the side eye to Tinaya and Lataran. “The war is my current worry.” The Admirals are aware that there is a war against the Exin Empire, and that it is being fought by the Verdemusians, in whatever capacity they are able. They are not, however, privy to current operational details. It’s not technically relevant to the ship, and more of a diplomatic problem, so they don’t need to know. It sounds like something happened, or is happening, which has Captain Jennings anxious. They’re both curious to learn what that might be, but not entitled to any such answers. “With all due respect,” he adds.

“We recognize, appreciate, and understand the duties of the Captain,” Spalden says, “which is why I invited you to leave, and return to your post. There will be no hard feelings here. The Halfway Party is vital to keeping passengers enthusiastic about our mission, and to pass this enthusiasm down to the next generations. It is not frivolous. It is not irrelevant. It is vital to our survival as a people, and for that reason, I must insist on maintaining our commitment to the matter. Thank you very much.”

“He’s not saying that it’s not important,” Councilwoman Flowers defends. “He’s not even saying that we shouldn’t have any input. He’s arguing that we were elected to manage the safe, secure, and prosperous transportation of our passengers across the galaxy. Our obligation to them covers all matters, as well as ship morale. As morale is but a subset of our duties, perhaps a more focused committee is in order. Not only do we have other issues to deal with, but including people who are not on the council in the decision-making process would actually aid in our endeavor to boost ship morale itself.”

Head Councillor Spalden squirms in his seat. It’s becoming apparent that the issue is not that he wants the council to be solely in charge of it. It’s that he wants to personally be in charge of it.

Tinaya stands. “I move for the creation of an official Party Planning Committee, to be responsible for the Halfway Celebration, as well as any other state-sponsored festivities, which may be conceived of in the future. I would like to include in this motion a provision that Head Councillor Spalden be installed as the first Premier Facilitator of the PPC...final name to be determined by the selected Premier Facilitator.”

“Seconded,” Lataran says.

As Head Councillor Spalden is being called in this motion, he is unable to be involved in any way. He can’t even be present for a vote. Councilman Linwood stands. “Motion is engaged. All other business on the agenda are tabled until further notice. Discussion on new order will be open as soon as Head Councillor Spalden excuses himself.”

Spalden stands, and holds back his excitement. He doesn’t want to seem too eager. They’re all picking up on how he feels, and there’s little chance that they won’t let him do it. Oceanus isn’t the only one who doesn’t care what happens to the celebrations; he’s just the only one in a position to vocalize his apathy.

As Spalden is leaving, Councilman Linwood turns his attention to Tinaya and Lataran. “Admirals, as non-voting members, please excuse yourselves as well.”

Lataran points finger guns at him, winks, and clicks her tongue just before she disappears.

Tinaya nods at the council. “With respect to the Dais,” she says, which is the right way to leave these chambers. She walks out manually.

Lataran didn’t teleport too far. She’s waiting for Tinaya on the other side of the doors. “Anything interesting happen after I left?” she jokes.

“I’ve not asked in a while. How’s Sable?” Tinaya asks as they start walking down the corridor together.

“She’s good. Knows what she wants to do with her life already.”

“And what’s that?”

“I’m glad we were able to get out of that meeting early, because there’s something you should see, and earlier is better than later.”

“Okay...”

They continue to walk instead of jumping right to their destination. It’s apparently not all that urgent. Lataran exudes a sense of calm and reserved excitement, rather than anxiety or fear. This thing that she wants Tinaya to see must not be bad. That still doesn’t tell her what it could possibly be, though. They take the elevator all the way up to the top level. It’s evidently something in the Attic Forest. Lataran continues to lead her between the trees and bushes until they can see a group of children. Sable is one of them, but Tinaya doesn’t know any others since her own son has aged out of this demographic.

“This is her Enrichment class,” Lataran explains. Enrichment is a vital component of children’s education. It typically includes studies that are not, strictly speaking, necessary for the continuation of the mission. No science, no engineering, no Earth studies. It’s about art, music, and other creative activities. It’s a generic term at this age. If a student decides to pursue a career in one of these fields, the course options will narrow later on.

One of the kids notices that the Admirals have arrived, and starts spreading the news. They were standing in random spots before, but now clump together in a vaguely orderly fashion. Off to the side, a white sheet hangs over the trail between two trees, which is perhaps ready for an image to be projected upon it? Once Tinaya and Lataran step fully into the clearing, the performance begins. In their best attempt at unison, they cry, “thank you, Admiral Leithe!” They then sing a song, which seems to be wholly original. It’s not a literal interpretation about the past, but is essentially about a cold, lifeless ship being turned into a lush garden full of joy and calm, where all the children can laugh and play. It’s about the forest. It’s about her.

After the son is over, seven-year-old Sable separates herself from the group, clearly intentionally, and as rehearsed. She reaches up and tries to take hold of the corner of the white sheet, but she’s too short. “The stool!” she complains, looking around on the ground. In lieu of looking for the stool, one of the older boys picks her up by the waist so she can get the sheet. She pulls it off of the hook, and lets it drop. On the other side is a garden. Of course there’s vegetation all around, but this is a distinct section, surrounded by stone pavers. The flowers planted here are some of the most vibrant and delicate, such as zinnias, carnations, and blue alyssum. There’s a small water fixture on a small retaining wall. The water splashes into a tiny pond, which spills over the edge of the lower retaining wall, and into a tiny creek that disappears around the corner.

Tinaya tears up when she notices one last thing. On a wooden sign on a wooden post are the words, Leithe Gardens.

“They’ve been working on this for months,” Lataran explains. “Sable only fessed up when I grilled her for coming home late two weeks ago.”

“Oh, boys and girls,” Tinaya says. “Thank you. This is so sweet of you.” It’s nice, after all this heartache—with Waldemar, and baby Silvia, and just everything—to see something so pure and delightful. As a leader, she’s had to endure all too much danger and drama. It’s great to be reminded that life is about happiness, and they’re flying through the black in the search of that; not war or political intrigue. The thought and care that went into creating this masterpiece shows that it is possible to find harmony, and to build a society based on love and community.

« < » > Table of Contents

Microstory 2431: Melodome

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Gemini Pro text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3

Don’t let the name fool ya if you’re interpreting the pun to be mellow + dome. It’s not about melodrama either. It’s the first part of the word melody + dome. This is all about music. Recording studios, concert halls, smaller stages, other interesting venues, and even sports stadiums where no one ever actually plays sports. This dome has it all. You can make music, listen to music, watch music. Every genre, every level of interaction; everything. No place like this exists on Earth. Even the cities known for music, like Havana and New Orleans, still had to leave space for regular living. This is the Music City, no matter what Nashville tries to tell you. There are some things that I’m not entirely sure about, unfortunately. When my great great grandparents were younger, they remember a trend where dead musicians were starting to be resurrected through holograms. This isn’t the kind of volumetric immersion that you’re used to in the present-day. It was very crude, and very obviously fake, even if you didn’t know that the subject wasn’t alive anymore. They recall being quite upset by this, not because it was macabre—which it is—but because it was disrespectful. These were real people who lived their lives, and then those lives ended. Before virtual immortality was invented, that was just what happened. These musical artists were immortal because of their legacy. That was what they were striving for, because they probably didn’t even guess at the future of life extension research. Their flame burned bright, but it was short, and that’s what was special about it. If you missed it, that was sad, but it was sad in a good way. The holograms robbed the industry of these artists’ authenticity, and sadly, that never went away. The technology kept improving, and the industry kept embracing it, despite pushback from the audience. There was evidently enough money in it, probably because of people’s morbid curiosity. Melodome has not shied away from this concept. They’ve brought the dead back to life using realistic androids. Not all of them are even dead, but living performers who just aren’t freaking on Castlebourne. I guess they signed away the rights to their likeness, but that doesn’t make it okay. I’m not going to name real names, but if John Doe can’t be here, then I shouldn’t be able to go to one of his concerts, and watch a convincing facsimile reenact his set from X number of years ago. I get that these are at least historically accurate shows, so they’re not merely contriving something entirely out of thin air. They justify it by saying that it’s like watching a recording, but I don’t consider that the same thing. There’s a lot of great things to see here. If you’re an artist, and you want a venue, they will find you one. I doubt the demand would ever surpass the supply. So if you’re a music fan who wants to discover someone new, you can do that. There’s always something going on, and it’s easy to find new acts on the dome’s prospectus, but there’s also this other side of it. They should really lean into the aspect of originality, because the reenactments are unethical at best. But maybe that’s just my point of view. You have to decide for yourself where your line is.

Microstory 2312: A Great Audience

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google ImageFX text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 3

Hello, it’s Kelly again. Welcome to the last post ever. I hope that it lives up to your expectations, but there’s only so much I can do. Nick was a very important part of a lot of people’s lives, including my own, but I recognize that others have their own personal experiences. That was kind of the original idea behind the Forum Memorial, but I suppose that the comment section serves that purpose too. Beyond that, I wanted to thank Jasmine for taking the time to express her final thoughts before this site comes to a close. It was really nice to hear from her again, wasn’t it, folks? Moving on, I was planning on just sort of shutting myself away from the world after this, but my friends have suggested that I keep things alive in a new way. People have evidently responded well to my contributions, even before Nick went away forever, so I do want to continue in some capacity, but before I get into that, you should know that this blog is still ending. It was never really mine, and I want my own space on the web. Stay subscribed to Nick’s social media accounts, where I’ll let you know how to keep following along, if you want. I think this is the right way to do it. All of you subscribed to hear from him, or at least about him. It wouldn’t be fair for me to sort of usurp this whole audience for my own gain. I should have to start over, and you can choose to follow me on the other side, or not. I won’t blame you if you don’t. I would rather know that everyone is there because they want to be, not because they forgot to fully unsubscribe from this site. So, there it is. It’s over. As they say, it’s been a hell of a ride, so far, but it’s not truly over. This version of Earth kept spinning after Nick and Dutch died, and will continue doing just that even when every single one of us follows in their footsteps. These words, though...the blog updates, the book, the musical; they could live on forever. Alienoid ultrahumans five billion years from now might be enjoying what we’ve created over the last 365 days. That goes for everyone, with your own accounts, storing your own original thoughts. It’s crazy to think about it this way, but it’s comforting too. You can all live forever if you do something with your lives. It doesn’t have to be huge, or mind-blowing. You don’t even have to become famous. You just have to have something to say, and a means of recording it. Thank you again for being here, and participating in the global discourse. I wouldn’t call us boring at all, and I think Nick would have changed his mind about that by now. Signing off for the last time here. I’ve been Kelly Serna...and you’ve been a great audience.

Microstory 2306: Appreciation for Symmetry

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Gemini Advanced text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 3

The end of the year is approaching, and I’m taking stock of my life. All of Nick and Dutch’s final arrangements have been completed. I’ve started the process of getting Nick’s novel published, and beginning to look into who can help me do something with the stage musical. I’m selling the house, and weighing my options when it comes to where I want to live next. I may stay in the Kansas City area, or I may not. One thing I’m still really not sure about is this site. Nick started it at the beginning of the year, and I have only ever taken over when he’s been incapacitated, but should that last forever, now that he can never come back? Do I truly have the right? Would he want me to keep going? He was a man with an appreciation for symmetry. I think ending on December 31 would be poetic in a way that he would like if he were here to do it himself. A lot of people don’t get to live on like this at all. If they die when they’re in the middle of something, it just ends. Well, maybe that’s not entirely true. If you have a job, a coworker probably takes over your accounts, and if you have young children, someone raises them for you...at least that’s the hope, anyway. Still, I think it’s time to start thinking about ending this. His story may not technically be over if his legacy moves on, but it still feels like the right thing to do. You’ll always be able to read and reread all 365 posts that will be up by then, as well as everything he wrote on social media. I’m certainly not going to shut the whole thing down. But it was never really mine. Perhaps I’ll start my own blog after this, which chronicles the things that I do next year, and beyond. Or it will too end in a year. I don’t have to decide anything right now, but the deadline is coming up soon, so let me know what you think.

Microstory 2300: Millions of People

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Gemini Advanced text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 3

The place was packed. In case you never found out, the event was catered, that was the surprise from the other day. A counter-serve vegetarian restaurant called Honeypea’s Harvest graciously donated tons of food and labor time for what’s certainly the largest reception I’ve ever been to. They actually started out in the Kansas City area, and their first location that wasn’t in the immediate region was Chicago, so they felt a kinship to us. Nick loved going there, I remember that, but I didn’t think to reach out to them. Our publicity firm did, and we’re very grateful for their assistance. We basically took over the entire Humankind Causeway Center, because we had the auditorium on one end, and then the ballroom for the reception on the other. You can see why I couldn’t tell you about it before, right? You say the word free, and people flock to you, whether they know what you’re giving away or not. There was a limited amount of space and food available, so we couldn’t let the whole world know. As for the service itself, it went pretty well. I told you that I was nervous, and having a full auditorium didn’t help with my nerves, but I pretended that they weren’t there, and that I was still practicing in front of the mirror. I got into a rhythm, and made it through to the other end. I want to thank all who attended, and everyone who logged in to watch the stream. Millions. Millions of people watched it live, and millions more have watched the recording since it ended. I can’t believe we ended up here. When I first met Dutch, he was just this cool guy without a care in the world. And when I met Nick, I honestly thought that he was a little nutty. He was shy, but not shy about telling us who he was, and where he came from. I grew to believe him, and it seems that a lot of you have too. I find it hard to imagine that this many people read his blog, especially now that he’s dead, when they just think it’s this dumb little fictional story. Dare I say most of you are believers? It’s crazy how far he’s come. Even though he’s gone, his legacy continues, through all of you, and through me. I’ll keep sending out posts as long as you keep reading them. I think he would appreciate that. In fact, I bet he would literally say, “I appreciate your support.”

Microstory 1923: Lying Liars Lying

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Canva text-to-image AI software

OSI Director: Agent Parsons, Parole Officer Miazga. It’s nice to meet you both. Please, have a seat anywhere. Special Investigator, would you go get us some water?

Special Investigator: Right away.

Leonard: Thanks for having me. And you can just call me Leonard, or even Leo.

Agent Parsons: It’s an honor, sir.

OSI Director: I’ll start with you, Agent. Tell me about yourself. How did you get into fugitive recovery?

Agent Parsons: Well, sir, I wish I could tell you some interesting story about meeting an agent when I was nine, or that my father’s father’s father’s father worked in Fugitive Services. The truth is that I didn’t know what I wanted to specialize in when I signed up for the academy. So I did a full internship rotation, and ended up liking this the most. I’ve actually not been doing it for very long, though you might have assumed by my age. I spent quite a bit of time gaining experience from all facets of law enforcement.

OSI Director: That’s interesting. And you, Mr. Miazga? How did you become a P.O.?

Leonard: I was kind of a legacy. My parents both worked on the parole board for a nearby prison. That’s what they wanted me to do too, but honestly, I didn’t like the idea of sitting behind a table day in, day out. Maybe a third of people are given a second chance while the other two-thirds go back inside. I wanted one hundred percent of the people I worked with to be free.

OSI Director: That’s a fascinating perspective. I can respect that.

Special Investigator: *clears his throat* Um, pardon. Do you want lemon?

OSI Director: No, thank you.

Special Investigator: Lemon? Lemon?

Agent Parsons: I’m all right.

OSI Director: Tell me, Mr. Miazga, what makes you believe that you can get the creature that we’ve captured to finally speak?

Leonard: It’s alone. In order to advance to the level a species like that, or like ourselves, are, they have to value a sense of cooperation. How long have you had it? Six months? I’ve seen enough prisoners to know that everyone breaks. It takes longer for some than for others, but it will always happen, and in my line of business, that’s a good thing. I know that sounds heartless, but if you’ve done something bad enough to end up in a cell, the only way you’re gonna get out is if you admit the justice that put you in there. You may still be angry, and you may be unwilling to change, but the first step is admitting the logic in the outcome. Like I said, we all have our own breaking points, and if it hasn’t reached its point yet, we have to force it, and that may mean changing strategies. That’s all I am for you; a shift in strategy.

OSI Director: *nodding* I can accept this rationale. That’s all I needed to hear. If you’ll excuse me, I must return to my office to make a call.

Agent Parsons: You lied to her about your background. Did you forget that you already told me the truth about your career history?

Leonard: I was just just following your lead. Did you think that I wouldn’t notice your lie? It was my job to spot liars.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: August 24, 2398

« < » > Table of Contents

As soon as Leona walks into the room, Senator Honeycutt’s face drops into a here we go again expression. His assistant has to apologize for letting her in yet again. He keeps telling her to stop trying, because it’s not worth it, and to definitely stop apologizing for it. If Leona wants to go somewhere, she’s going to go there, and he knows it. “Agent Matic, what can I do for you this time?”

“When was the last time you spoke with your daughter?” she asks.

“Let’s see, is it Monday?”

“Yes,” she replies.

“Then...never. I don’t have a daughter.”

“Is that some sort of sad internal family political thing, or are you saying that you literally don’t have a daughter?”

“I literally don’t have any kids. Never have.”

She squints at him. “Given your age, position of power, and marriage status, why would you have never had children? Isn’t it sort of expected of you by your peers?”

“Well, it just so happens...” He trails off, realizing that this is a very good question. Men like him are concerned with legacy. It wouldn’t make much sense for him to rely exclusively on his career to keep his name alive. Children are a guaranteed legacy, even if you never do anything else with your life. He rests his forehead on his hand, and his elbow on the desk. “Why didn’t I have children?”

“You did,” Leona explains. “You just can’t remember her.”

“Why? What could cause me to lose my memory?”

“Well, there are a number of possible causes. The direct approach would be someone coming to you directly to remove the memories from your mind. Tell you what, call someone who would be cognizant of your fathering status, and ask them if they remember her. But it can’t be someone too close to you, because a memory thief may have gotten to them too. Choose someone distant, remote, but still unlikely to not be aware of your basic family information.”

“How old is she?”

“Late 20s, I think. I actually don’t really know.”

He thinks about it for a bit, and then calls someone to ask. He hangs up. “She doesn’t remember her either. We haven’t seen each other in about fifteen years, but back then, she would have known this mysterious missing daughter.” He’s so distraught now.

“Okay, so the next logical conclusion is that something happened to her, and my husband, which has ripped them from our spacetime.”

“You have a husband?”

“Yes, and a pilot-slash-boat captain named Tarboda Hobson took them to Easter Island. Is any of this ringing a bell?”

“I remember approving a plane. I don’t remember who for, or for what purpose.”

“Well, my memory is ripple proof, because of all the experience I have traveling through time. Only me and part of my team are like that, so I’m going to need you to approve another airplane, but it has to be something that can be flown by an amateur.”

“We have a prototype AICraft.” He doesn’t know what he’s fighting for, but he believes Leona, and is fighting for his lost daughter anyway.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: May 17, 2398

« < » > Table of Contents

Everybody found their own room, and slept in The Constant that night. They didn’t make any plans for the next day, but it seemed as good a place as any. They stayed close to each other, even though they consisted of two parties of strangers. The next day, with nothing better to do, Ramses and Leona start looking into the database, or what’s left of it. There’s a lot still here, but it becomes clearer the more they look through the directories that a lot of data has been stripped. When Danica left, she knew someone else could find this place one day, and she didn’t want them to have access to certain information. The fact that she didn’t just run out all of the sudden, or die without warning, was already obvious. She had the wherewithal to seal up the top of the main elevator, and dismantle the elevator car itself. If she recorded some kind of log that might give them an idea why she’s no longer here, she took that with her too.

The little girl, Trina runs into the room, holding a small black box. “What is this thing?”

Leona isn’t paying her any attention, so Ramses takes it from her, and looks it over. “I have no idea? Wait. It looks like some kind of magnetic memory storage device.”

Leona turns her head. “It’s a video cassette tape.” She turns back.

“Where did you get it?” Ramses asks Trina.

“I think it was a library, but this is the only thing that was in it.”

Now Leona’s interested. “How big was this library?”

“Like, four stories tall, and maybe endlessly long?” Trina ballparks.

“And that’s the only thing you found?” Leona presses.

“Yeah, it was in this thing.” She hands Leona the case.

Jim Carrey is dreaming of himself lying on the snow next to Kate Winslet. “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.”

“Is it a movie?” Trina guesses.

“Yeah.”

“Is it good? It must be good if they cleared out the entire library, except for this one thing.”

“Did you find it fallen on the floor, as if someone had dropped it, or still sitting on the shelf?”

“It was on the first shelf I saw when I walked in, facing the door. I looked through several aisles. They were all empty.”

Leona and Ramses give each other a look, but they’re not thinking the same thing. “Computer, where do you keep the VCR?”

The computer doesn’t respond vocally. It just lights up the floor and walls to lead them down to the legacy technology sector. Leona follows it, and Ramses and Trina follow her. They find the VCR already connected to a box TV, rather than tucked away somewhere. She expects to blow dust off of the top, but it’s perfectly clean. There’s a robot in here somewhere who’s been maintaining the bunker. Leona inserts the tape, and presses play.

“I love you,” says Joel.

“Meet me in Montauk,” Clementine whispers back.

That’s it. It’s stuck between 1:30:50 and 1:30:55, repeating those two lines over, and over, and over again. The tape keeps skipping. Ramses thinks he might be able to fix it, but Leona stops him. “It’s a clue.”

“It’s a clue for what?”

Leona pauses the video, and echoes the last line herself. “Meet me in Montauk. Meet me in Montauk.”

“Does that mean anything to you?” Trina asks.

“That sounds like a city. Is that where we’re meant to go?” Ramses questions.

Leona tilts her head, considering the words, and what they may mean in a more figurative sense. Thinking she has it figured out, she runs off. The other two follow her again, down the hallways, and into the main living area. Heath, Alyssa, and the boys are already there, chatting about this and that.

“Is everything okay?” Heath stands up to help in whatever way necessary.

Leona ignores him, and heads straight for the corner of the room. She stares at the wall. “Where’s that sledgehammer?”

“Why do you need it?” Heath asks.

She just turns to him and scowls. He’s not really in a position to question her. Intellectually, she knows she shouldn’t blame him—that it could never have been his idea to use a time bullet to blow a hole in a concrete ceiling five kilometers up—but she can’t help but be angry at him anyway.

He steps over to the main elevator shaft, and retrieves the sledgehammer.

“Rambo,” Leona says, “he’s still recovering. Could you do the honors?”

Ramses accepts the tool from Heath. He gets in position, but doesn’t swing. He places the business end against the wall that she’s staring at. “Right here?”

“Yes,” she orders.

He does as he’s told, bashing the hammer against the wall over, and over, and over again. The facility is constructed out of metal, probably graphene, and maybe other metamaterials. There’s no wood, or even brick anywhere. They wouldn’t last very long. Why is this made out of wood? Once he’s gotten through, they find a door on the other side. He knocks the last of the wall out of the way, and wrenches it open. A light flickers on to reveal an upright stasis pod. There’s only one reason to design a pod like that, and it’s if the user is literally kept in stasis. Time is probably moving at infinitely slow speeds, so almost none will have passed since they stepped in. As long as you have power, it’s the only way a normal person could survive for many thousands of years, if not longer. Other methods allow for too much aging, radiation poisoning, and other failures.

Leona uses the touchscreen to command the pod to open. When it does, Mateo steps out. “You’re here!” she exclaims. “You’ve been here the whole time?”

Mateo takes her by the shoulders, and pushes her out. He looks around the main living area to take stock. “Is everybody who came down here in this room right now?”

“What? What are you talking about?” Ramses asks.

Mateo screams in his face, “is everyone here!”

“Yes.”

“Then run!” Mateo sprints across the room, to the little secondary elevator. He holds the door open, and ushers everyone in one by one. First Leona, then Ramses, Trina, Carlin, Moray, and Alyssa. Heath and Mateo squeeze in last, making it a very tight fit. But it’ll be worth it. Mateo pops open the firefighter access panel with a flathead screwdriver that he has in his pocket. He reaches in, but waits. “There are more people in here than I thought there would be. Make sure the young ones are in the middle.

Moray has to adjust a little, but it’s about as good as they’ll do.

Mateo pulls the switch. They shoot upwards, faster than any elevator should safely move. They can feel the g-force desperately trying to squish them into the floor. But it’ll be worth it.

“Oh my God!” Heath shouts.

“Whoopee!” Trina cries.

At some point, the elevator car starts to tip over. Everybody begins to yell in fear, even the little one, because they’ve reached the surface, and now they’re coming back down. They don’t crash, though. They can feel themselves bouncing, rolling, bouncing, and rolling. When the ride finally ends, the door opens automatically, allowing them to see the giant air bags that released automatically, which are now gradually deflating.

“What the hell was that?” Leona demands to know.

Before Mateo can say anything, they hear a boom. A plume of dirt rises into the sky. He runs over, and the rest are compelled to do the same. They hear rushing water as they near the road, and after they get over the hill, they can see the crater. It’s filling up with water, resourced from pipes that they barely have time to see before they’re covered up.

“I say again...what the hell was that?” Leona repeats.

Mateo catches his breath. “It’s Danica Lake.” He falls to the ground, and passes out.

Microstory 1794: The Message

< > Table of Contents

For the most part, my life was boring, so I won’t get into everything that I did. I’ll just talk about the most traumatizing, and simultaneously most transformative, experience I had. I worked on the factory floor for about half of my career, and up in the offices for the other half. It wasn’t something I thought I would ever achieve, but I was a lot more comfortable sitting in a chair all day, pushing paper. It was safer, and had better climate control. My boss was a decent guy, who treated people fairly, and always listened to his employees. He wasn’t great at pay. Well, it wasn’t really his fault. It was company policy back then to not give people raises unless they asked for them. Even if you were promoted to a higher level, they kept you at the same rate unless you specifically pled your case, which made for awkward conversations that could have been avoided. Some managers were better at making this less awkward than others, but mine was clueless and difficult. He also liked everything to be really formal, so instead of talking to him directly about some change you felt needed to be made, or a grievance, you had to write a letter. I hated writing letters, but I learned to do them well, and that’s how I ended up at the desk in the first place. This one day, after thinking over why I thought I deserved to be paid more, and why I needed it, I wrote a letter too hastily, and ended up spelling my manager’s name wrong. I didn’t realize it until after I had sealed it and sent it. I guess I just took a mental photograph of it, but didn’t check the film until later. I was so upset, and so distracted as I was driving home from work, that I didn’t even realize that I had tried to make a U-turn, let alone that there was a pesky concrete barrier in the way. I hit that thing hard. I probably would have died instantly if the turn itself hadn’t slowed me down. I don’t remember feeling any pain, but an intense pressure on my legs. I do remember what I was thinking while I was sitting there, and it’s embarrassing.

I should’ve thought, this is it. This is the day that I die. This is the way that I die. I’m never gonna see my family again. I’m never gonna have another nice steak dinner. But all my brain could focus on was that spelling mistake. I had to fix it. That was what kept me going, as absolutely insane and irrational as it was. Pretty much everyone dies with unfinished business, and it’s sad, and it’s not fair, but that’s the way life is. A normal person is driven to wake up the next day so they can make something of themselves. All I cared about was getting to my boss before he opened that envelope. It didn’t make any sense, but that’s me, I guess. I can’t be sure how much it played into it. Maybe if I had been thinking about how much I hated to be alive, I still would have survived, because my mind wasn’t powerful enough to have that much of an effect on my body, but I always attributed it to that letter. I held out long enough for rescue. I was in hospital, of course, so I never managed to intercept the letter, but also of course, he didn’t care. He wasn’t offended, and he even said that he almost didn’t notice. He just wanted me to get better, and that I did. I lived a good fifty years more. It truly was a good fifty years too, because I learned that day to try to relax, man. Everyone makes mistakes, and people tend to be more understanding if you give them a reason to. I worked hard to become more personable and likeable, and I found that people would generally give me the benefit of the doubt. I think that’s the most important lesson that I instilled in my kids, and I die in peace, knowing that this simple message remains my legacy.

Extremus: Year 17

« < » > Table of Contents

The ship has been running smoothly for the last two years, though they remain short one Omega, and one Valencia. One thing that Ovan never counted on was the fact that Halan would be onto his plans, and thwart him at every turn. What Ovan wants is to create a divide between the passengers and the crew, and not really because of any particular hatred he has for people who are in service of others, but because those are the two most obvious camps on the vessel. Had he grown up on Earth, he likely would have done the same thing between organic humans and mechs, and on Ansutah, he would have incited premature war against the Maramon. He wants to create a stir—but not chaos—inside of a complex dynamic that puts him at the center of everything. No matter what happens; no matter who wins this conflict, he’ll be recorded in the ship’s logs as the primary historical figure. He knows he won’t live long enough to reach the Extremus planet, but if students one day learn about him, it’ll be like he survived. That’s what he really wants out of life, to be remembered, and if Halan is going to come out on top, he has to find a way to make Ovan think he’s achieved that without actually giving anything up.

He’s back in Perran’s office. This is their pattern, apparently, where the Captain seeks guidance from the Admiral only every several years. In the meantime, he’s supposedly just been rotting down here. There’s no rule against him mingling with the rest of the crew, or the guests, but he rarely does. The now pretty old man is tapping on the rim of his glass. He doesn’t act like an alcoholic. He gives Halan the impression that he pours one glass in the morning, and sips on it throughout the entire day. “I do have an idea, but you’re not gonna like it.”

“I...would not expect to,” Halan replies.

“A long time ago, on Earth there was a politician. I don’t remember his name, I’m sure the history warped his story anyway. No one took books to Ansutah, so everything was word of mouth until our ancestors could write things down again. So forgive me if you’ve heard this one, and know more about it than I do. But here’s how it was told to me. There was a politician,” he repeats. “He didn’t care about other people. He helped pass laws that supported the rich people who gave money to his campaign.  He had a weirdly open philosophical stance. He, for whatever reason, hated people with disabilities. People in wheelchairs, seeing-eye dogs, and the like. He didn’t simply not worry about making sure they were okay. He actively worked against their best interests, always trying to take money from programs that would help them, and reallocating it to those rich friends. I don’t know how he kept getting elected since he was such a clearly repulsive person. I suppose it was all that money.

“Anyway, one day, this unnamed politician gets into a land vehicle accident. He’s paralyzed from the waist down; has to sit in a wheelchair. Oh, suddenly these public welfare programs don’t seem so ridiculous. He does a complete one-eighty, and starts trying to make his life easier by requiring ramps be installed at certain facilities, and demanding car companies do more research on accessible operating technologies. He didn’t become a saint overnight, mind you. His priorities changed, because his own circumstances changed. He remained the kind of politician whose only concern was himself. Still, even though the only reason he switched platforms was to help himself, the results were the same. Businesses had to install ramps to accommodate all of their customers, and hand-operated cars were better than they were before. Everyone benefited because this asshole became one of them. So, Captain, that’s what you’ll have to do if you want to stop Ovan Teleres from turning the passengers against you. To stop him from taking the ship from you, you have to give it to him.”

“I have to make him one of the crew?” Halan asks, knowing the answer.

“You don’t have to do anything, but his platform will disappear from under him if he becomes one of the people he hates so much. He can’t convince others to rise up if he too lives on the top of the hill.”

Halan sighs, and can’t believe he’s actually considering this. “A member of the passenger government can’t be part of the crew.”

“Bonus,” Thatch says. “He can’t campaign for a third shift.”

“What role would I give him?” Halan presses. “I can’t give him power, because he’ll still do bad things with it, but if I make him a janitor, then he won’t really feel like he’s won.”

“What are your Lieutenant’s responsibilities?”

“I’m not making him my Lieutenant, that would be absurd. Mercer has been great, and Ovan certainly doesn’t deserve that. I just said he can’t have power.”

“I never said you should give him Mercer’s job. What are his responsibilities?”

“Well, he’s first line of defense for me. He responds to conflicts, and brings me in when they can’t resolve themselves.”

“He has power, right?”

“Yes, he can put people on suspension, or even in hock. He can alter work schedules, change a passenger’s living conditions, and give orders, to a certain degree.”

Thatch nods, pretending that this is all news to him. “Sounds like a busy man.”

“It’s the hardest job on the ship. Mine is considered more difficult because of the pressure of being in charge, but as far as day-to-day work goes, he definitely has more to do.”

Thatch nods again. “You know that I was on the committee that formed the structure of the ship’s crew, right?”

“Obviously. That’s why they selected you for this job.”

“What you may not know is that the original plan was to give you two people; one on your right, one on your left. The idea was to have a coordinator who responded to issues without being able to do anything about them themselves. If necessary, they would run it up the chain, and let the real Lieutenant make decisions. You were never meant to even be this involved, but in the end, we decided that this was unnecessary. It made the captain’s seat far too cushy, and kind of pointless. Still, we didn’t just make the lieutenant the captain, and the second lieutenant the only lieutenant. All of the second lieutenant’s duties were absorbed into the one lieutenant position, and the captain became more accessible to the crew, which is what has made your job busier.”

“Okay...” Halan says. “So you’re suggesting we vote to make a new second lieutenant rank?”

Thatch smiles and shakes his head. “You don’t have to vote. The framework for the second lieutenant is written into the bylaws. You can institute it whenever you want, unilaterally. You can give Ovan that rank without asking anybody for permission, and that rank will look like power, but not actually come with any power. Mercer would still have to be called in if the situation demanded disciplinary action, or some other decision.”

“How long is the second lieutenant shift?”

Thatch leans back, and acknowledges a problem. “Well, see, that’s the thing. It’s a sixteen year stint, designed to promote a little bit of continuity when the captain and first lieutenant both retire at the same time. That’s in the bylaws too, and you would not be able to change it without a crew vote. I wouldn’t recommend doing that, though, because then Ovan would sniff out your deceptive plan.”

“I just don’t know if I can bring myself to force Ovan Teleres upon the next captain.”

“You would still be there, to help them, like I’m helping you right now.”

“Well, if Second of Nine comes to me with their problems as infrequently as I come to you, then that probably won’t be good enough.”

Thatch takes the first sip he’s had since Halan came in. “Believe me, I know it, brother. There is a possible way to social engineer that problem away too, but you’re not gonna like it any more than my last idea.”

Halan chuckles and shakes his head. “What would that be?”

“Bring me into the light.”

“What does that mean?”

“An admiral can’t do anything without the captain’s invitation. If you put me on the bridge, and give me a fake job, it will set a precedent. Second of Nine will be more likely to do the same for you. Maybe even more so, since you have actual experience with their job.”

“Is this what you’ve been vying for, a job?”

“Yes it’s all part of my evil plan to assume control of the lights. You know that’s there, right? There’s a person on the bridge whose entire job is to make sure the internal lighting system doesn’t waste energy. That could all be automated with simple infrared sensors, but we chose to use a human. And do you know why we did that?”

“No, Perran, why?”

“So that you could assign that role to the dumbest person on the crew, which gives you one opportunity per shift to avoid firing someone without giving them any chance to fuck up anything important.”

“So you wanna be the lights guy?”

“It’s not for me, it’s for you.”

“Sure, yeah, sure.”

“The second captain won’t make you the lights guy. They’ll give you something meaningful, which keeps you in their ear, which is what you’re looking for. I know you don’t need much help from me, but your successor will quite likely need help from you. Isn’t giving me the lights worth the confidence you’ll have that you did everything you could to make yourself a real admiral?”

“Just to recap, you want to be the Lighting Technician, and you want one of the greatest threats to the prosperity of this ship to be Second Lieutenant of the crew?”

“Well, when you say it in that voice, it makes me sound like an ass.”

“It’s not the voice.”

“Ha-ha.”

“I’m gonna talk to Mercer about this.”

“I would hope so.”

“I’ll also be consulting with the Consul to make sure everything is legal.”

“Seems reasonable.”

“If this is some trick...”

Thatch looks genuinely offended by the accusation. “One day, Captain.” He stands up, and downs the rest of his drink. “One day you’ll see that you can trust me. And that will be the day that I died.” He then walks out of the office, and into his cabin.

Halan isn’t going to do anything if his real lieutenant, Eckhart Mercer isn’t okay with it. Like he was saying, his is the hardest job, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like it, or doesn’t want to keep it the way it is. He won’t force anything upon him, but he will still try to convince him that this is the right call. They’ve been dealing with Ovan for the last five years, and haven’t come up with any better ideas in that time. He sits his best friend down, and lays out the plan.

Mercer widens his eyes, and breathes in deeply, but it’s hard to tell what he’s thinking. “Oh my God, yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes! Why didn’t we think of this before? He can’t turn people against us if he’s one of us, of course! Plus, it will give me more time to play Quantum Colony.”

“Is that a band, errr?”

“It’s a role-playing video game that’s based on the whole galaxy. You start out on Teagarden, where your avatar has been given access to a quantum terminal, which will allow you to cast your consciousness to any world that has a Project Stargate outpost on it already. At this point in history, that’s only thirty-six light years from Gatewood, but it’s always expanding. Everyone on the ship is playing it, you’ve never heard of it?”

“What do you do when you get to these planets?”

“You explore, and you build structures, and sometimes you even have a population to take care of. But that’s pretty rare, and players who find those worlds are pretty protective of them. It operates in realtime, so not much has happened yet, but you can communicate with other planets, and establish diplomatic relations. Theoretically, you could also start a war, but I’ve never heard of any interstellar wars.”

“Hm. I don’t think that’s my kind of thing.”

“Well, I’m obsessed with it. Don’t worry, it doesn’t eat into my responsibilities, but honestly, I could do with a little more downtime. I think the second lieutenant rank is a great idea, whether we give it to our enemy, or not.”

“If you’re cool, then I’m gonna talk to Legal.”

“Definitely. Do you want me to come with you?”

Halan squints at him with suspicion. “I feel like you really just want to play Quantum Colony instead?”

“Not gonna lie, Captain.”

“Very well. At ease.”

Now they have a goal, but they don’t have a real plan. In order to pull this off, they’re going to have to strategize. That will take time.

« < » > Table of Contents